After seven years of being the Alpha’s girlfriend, Bradley Kane, the pack’s charming yet insufferable Alpha of the Moonstone Pack, finally sent me something to remember my birthday—a bouquet of 9,999 moonlit roses.

Oh, and a lacy black lingerie set.

It was the first time Bradley had ever bought me flowers. Elated, I posted a picture of the bouquet on the pack’s community network. The replies poured in, but one comment stood out like a dagger to the chest:

“Some people are just happy picking up the scraps I don’t want.”

The account belonged to none other than Veronica Jones, the currrnt Beta’s ‘kind’ cousin and the she-wolf everyone thought would become our Luna, not when I was suddenly betrothed to him—a girl from a rogue family who managed to climb the ranks due to my father’s hardwork.

Yet still, I’m glad I’m not an Omega at least—just a mere pack member.

And just like that, the fantasy shattered.

I dug a little deeper, which wasn’t hard since Veronica didn’t bother hiding it. That’s when I learned that Bradley had bought a hidden cottage for her deep within Moonstone territory—mere steps from the Alpha’s estate that was supposed to be our future home. The roses, the gifts it was all meant for her.

Veronica Jones . . .

My claws itched as I marched toward their hideout—I carried the mountain of flowers straight to his so-called secret sanctuary, a quaint cabin surrounded by moon lilies. I didn’t even bother knocking.

Inside, I found them.

The table was set for two, candlelight casting a soft glow over their cozy dinner. Bradley and Veronica looked up, startled, as I stepped into their den of betrayal, holding their goddamn flowers.

“Yasmine,” Bradley said, his golden eyes narrowing. His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced with that fake calm he always put on when he was about to gaslight me. “You’re overreacting again. Veronica and I were just discussing pack business.”

Pack business. Right. Over wine and steak in her bedroom, no less.

“If there really was something between us,” he continued, “do you think I’d even bother letting you stay in my life, let alone consider you for Luna?”

The old me would’ve argued, shouted, maybe even cried. But today? Today, I simply let out a short laugh, tossed the roses onto their precious dinner table, and pulled off the engagement ring he had made such a big deal about.

“Good luck with her, Alpha,” I said, my voice calm despite the chaos roaring inside me. “You’ll need it.”

The ring rolled to Bradley's feet, coming to a halt against his perfectly polished boots. He didn’t even flinch. With deliberate arrogance, he pressed his heel down, grinding the ring—and my pride—into the wooden floor.

“If you want to be Luna, Yasmine, learn how to stop being so paranoid. You’re embarrassing yourself. Go home and think about what you’ve done.”

Something inside me snapped. Not in anger—no, I’d moved past that—but in clarity. It was like someone had peeled back the illusion I’d been living under for the past seven years.

I turned without another word, walking out of the house as if their betrayal hadn’t just gutted me.

***

Back at my apartment, I didn’t cry. Instead, I picked up my phone and sent a single message to the pack’s group chat.

“Bradley Kane is no longer my husband. The engagement is off. Best of luck to him and Veronica Jones.”

It didn’t take long for the replies to come pouring in.

Bradley, the coward that he was, immediately posted a photo of himself typing at his desk, his Alpha badge conveniently displayed.

“I was just handling some important pack matters with Veronica. Yasmine’s tantrums are getting out of hand. She’s mad because I didn’t buy her that ridiculously overpriced dress for the Luna ceremony.”

He followed it up with:

“I’ve never even complained about her spending my pack credit card at bars with rogues.”

The group chat exploded, as I expected. My mother, the ever-supportive she-wolf she was, jumped in first.

“Yasmine! Apologize to Bradley immediately. Do you know how lucky you are to have the Alpha of the willing to take you in? If you mess this up, don’t bother coming home!”

She added a dramatic:

“I’ll die if you ruin this marriage.”

Rolling my eyes, I left the chat.

***

After my parents’ divorce, my mother had grown bitter, taking out all her resentment on me. Bradley had been my escape—charming, confident, and promising a life where I didn’t have to tiptoe around someone’s temper.

But after seven years, it was clear his charm had never been meant for me. His smiles were reserved for Veronica. His gentleness? Only for the pack’s approval.

With me, he’d been nothing but cold, cruel, and calculating.

I used to fight back, to beg for his affection, to prove that I was worthy of being Luna. But I finally realized something. A woman who still loves fights to keep her place. A woman who’s done? She lets go.

***

When Bradley showed up at my apartment that night, holding a single, wilted rose, I almost laughed.

“Still sulking?” he asked, his tone annoyed as he threw the flower onto my coffee table. “I got you a rose. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Stop being so damn dramatic.”

I glanced at the flower, then back at him. Once upon a time, I’d envied the she-wolves who walked around with fresh bouquets from their mates. I’d dropped hints, hoping Bradley would do the same.

But he’d always sneered at me.

“If I’d known you were such a shallow, materialistic woman, I wouldn’t have bothered with you,” he’d said once. “A Luna needs to have substance, Yasmine, not this silly obsession with flowers.”

Yet here he was, pretending this limp excuse for an apology would be enough.

“You know,” I said, standing up and crossing my arms, “for an Alpha, you have a real talent for being a coward.”

His brows furrowed, confusion flashing in his dark eyes.

“Bradley,” I said, standing up and crossing the room until I was right in front of him. I held his gaze, my voice calm and steady.

I kicked the roses off the table, letting them scatter across the floor. My voice dropped as I stared him down. “I don’t like second-hand goods. And I sure as hell don’t want a second-hand mate.”

Bradley’s face twisted with anger at my words. His wolf, ever simmering beneath the surface, pushed through his expression, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Yasmine,” he snarled, his voice laced with dominance. “What right do you have to speak to me like that? You’re only here because my father allowed it. Don’t forget, everything you have is because of me.”

I stood my ground, even though my wolf whimpered at the sharp edge of his authority. My human side, though, was long past caring about his posturing.

“Funny,” I said, crossing my arms. “Because last I checked, I’ve been supporting myself just fine. Or did you think splitting expenses meant you were doing me some grand favor?”

The oven’s beep interrupted us. I turned away without waiting for his response, grabbing my gloves to pull the cake from the oven. The scent of vanilla and warm sugar filled the air, but it did little to sweeten the bitterness between us.

Bradley stared at the cake for a long moment, his brows furrowed. Then, as if realizing something for the first time, he softened his tone.

“Is today . . . your birthday?” he asked.

I didn’t answer immediately. What was the point? It was my 30th birthday—a milestone. It was also the seventh anniversary of our bond. I’d spent the day baking this cake by hand, hoping we could celebrate together. But Bradley had barely remembered.

“It is,” I said finally, setting the cake down on the counter.

Guilt flickered in his eyes, but only for a moment. He straightened, smoothing his shirt as if brushing the guilt away.

“I’ve been busy with pack matters,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you. How about we go pick out a new engagement ring this afternoon?”

A new ring. As if that would fix anything.

He took a seat at the table, his usual air of entitlement fully restored.

“And about Veronica,” he added, his tone almost condescendingly gentle. “You’ve got to stop being jealous. Yes, we had something once, but that was years ago. I’ve moved on.”

Moved on? The memory of his careless words from years ago resurfaced like a wound that refused to heal. He’d once told his friends he’d rather be with anyone than Veronica—and yet, here we were.

I swallowed the bitterness threatening to choke me.

“No need,” I replied coldly. “You go ahead. I’ll handle myself.”

Bradley’s wolf flared briefly in his eyes, stunned by my defiance. But he quickly masked it, assuming—as always—that I would cave eventually. He smiled, lighting the candles on the cake with an almost performative gentleness.

“Make a wish,” he said, the Alpha in him always expecting compliance.

For years, my wishes had revolved around him. For us to find happiness together. For him to see me as more than a convenient placeholder. But tonight, my wish was different.

I wish to be free from Bradley Kane forever.

I opened my eyes, ready to blow out the candles, but stopped short. Bradley was gone.

I stared at the empty spot where he’d sat. The cake I’d spent hours making was knocked to the floor, frosting smeared across the rug like a slap in the face. The front door swung open, left ajar in his haste.

Cleaning up the mess, I heard my phone buzz. It was a post from Veronica:

I’m such a clumsy little girl! Bumped my foot so hard. Luckily, my Prince Charming was there to catch me. Love you, B!

In the comments, Bradley had replied:

Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.

The audacity of it all made my wolf snarl in my chest.

Another buzz. A message from Bradley.

Veronica hurt her foot. I’m taking her to the infirmary. Clean up her place and make some bone broth to bring over. No cilantro.

I stared at the message, the pieces finally clicking. Bradley’s supposed hatred of cilantro? It wasn’t his. It was hers. Everything he’d berated me for over the years—the little things that made me feel inadequate—had all been about her preferences.

Nausea clawed at my stomach. Still, after a moment of hesitation, I headed downstairs to Veronica’s apartment.

The door was already open. Bradley’s scent mingled with hers, sharp and unmistakable. He was cradling her in his arms, murmuring soft reassurances. When he saw me, his face hardened.

“What took you so long?” he barked. “Veronica could have been seriously injured.”

Veronica tugged at his sleeve, her voice syrupy sweet.

“Bradley, don’t be mad. It’s not Yasmine’s fault. I know she . . . doesn’t like me.”

I clenched my fists, my wolf pacing angrily inside me. Bradley turned to me, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Enough. Clean this place up. I’m not marrying a jealous woman who can’t even handle basic chores.”

With that, he swept Veronica into his arms and left. The moment the door closed behind them, the scent of betrayal thickened. My wolf howled in my mind, demanding justice.

‘Why are we even living like this, Yasmine?’ My wolf whimpered.

I don't know . . . I absolutely don’t know.

I swallow back the tears trying to fall. This is the fucking last time I'll be like this.

The bathroom was soaked, and the trash can was overflowing with evidence of their deceit—including two used condoms. My stomach churned. So much for his “busy” schedule.

I'm not even shocked anymore.

I glanced around the apartment, filled with luxury items—gifts from him. The stark contrast to my own sparse belongings upstairs hit me like a punch to the gut.

I took out my phone, snapping pictures of everything. If he wanted a fight, I’d be ready.

Back in my apartment, I packed my things. The few gifts Bradley had given me—kitchenware, a vacuum, a fucking knife—I left behind. One would argue it would simply be justifiable to use the last one to stab him.

They weren’t worth the baggage they carried.

When I finished, I called my best friend, Merryl, who was working overseas as a rogue---she was never fond of being under packs and bowing down to people simply because of their ranks.

After three missed calls, she finally answered.

“Merryl,” I said, my voice breaking. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have stayed this long. I need to leave.”

Merryl didn’t hold back. “You’re a fool,” she said, her tone ice-cold. “You deserved every bit of this.” The line went dead before I could respond.

I stared at the phone in my hand, the silence in the room pressed down on me. Uninvited and painful memories rushed in. . Merryl was the only friend I had, and she had always been the voice of reason,. She tried countless of times to get me to leave. The image of her walking out of my life, disappointment etched across her face, replayed in my mind like a broken record.

I should have listened . . .

Tears threatened to spill, but I bit them back, forcing myself to keep it together. Then my phone buzzed. A new message. It’s Merryl again.

I got you the earliest ticket out of there. Three days from now, noon.

That was it. No apology, no comfort. Just the cold, hard truth I’d refused to face for years. And yet, the sight of that ticket broke me in a way her words hadn’t. The dam finally gave way, and the tears I’d been holding back for what felt like forever spilled over—hot, messy, unstoppable.

They weren’t just for the years I’d wasted. They were for the version of me who had stayed far too long, hoping for something—someone that was never coming back.